


long goes into the night

by confidantes



Series: young blood, old guns [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: (but it ends well i promise!), (it's about healing), Adulthood, Canon Compliant, Depression, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 21:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16648301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confidantes/pseuds/confidantes
Summary: It was the hair he saw first: a longer whisper, now, across the shoulders, but the same distinctive tint, one cool note away from caramel. He knows it well because he was once so bold as to thread his fingers through it and pass it off as a lie: “You had a moth on your head.”He can’t let this slip him by — even if it isn’t him, he has to know for sure.“Goro.”He must’ve caught him by surprise, because that just-off-auburn hair flies around in a perfect whorl.“Ren,” the man says, breathless with disbelief.It’s hard not to blurt out the obvious: I thought you were dead.(Or, Ren & Goro find each other again after ten long years.)





	long goes into the night

It was the hair he saw first: a longer whisper, now, across the shoulders, but the same distinctive tint, one cool note away from caramel. He knows it well because he was once so bold as to thread his fingers through it and pass it off as a lie: “You had a moth on your head.”

 

Then it’s the body: long and lithe, still unworn by age, but taller, broader at the shoulders, as if the boy had filled in all the blanks left open for man. He’s wearing a plain, white button-down shirt, tucked nearly into fitted black slacks. The primness and care of the outfit, with every article pressed and ironed, checks out.

 

He can’t let this slip him by — even if it isn’t him, he has to know for sure. Past the aisles of chips, cookies, snacks, whatever, his legs rely on the old agility of a thief to cut in before the man can make his exit through the glass door.

 

“Goro.”

 

He must’ve caught him by surprise, because that just-off-auburn hair flies around in a perfect whorl — and truly, it is surprise.

 

“Ren,” the man says, breathless with disbelief.

 

It’s hard not to blurt out the obvious: _I thought you were dead_.

 

Of course, Goro proceeds as if the two were simply university classmates who had lost touch after graduation. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well. I assume you’re in town for business?”

 

“Visiting. My parents retired and just moved here,” Ren clarifies.

 

“Ah.” Goro nods. “Hadano is a wonderful place to grow old. They’ll be more than happy here.”

 

This is surreal: standing between the colorful displays of snacks at the _konbini_ as if they had not once watched each other die. “And you?” Ren asks, even though he knows Goro will be hopelessly evasive.

 

“I’m spectacular, Amamiya-san. I own a small business and I have a wife and son. Everything a man could ask for.” He looks down at his watch, neither of them fooled at Goro’s urgency. “Now if you would excuse me, I must be going now.”

 

And just like that, Goro is out the door, plastic shopping bag swinging in his hands from the haste, an escape artist at his finest. He still wears those trademark leather gloves like a second skin, Ren notices. He must not want to leave fingerprints anywhere he goes — a proper ghost.

 

-

 

The second time he sees Goro, it is very much on purpose.

 

“Ah,” Goro says, with the resigned tone of someone who’s just lost a game of hide and seek. “Going quite out of your way for a paperback, aren’t you?”

 

The brief, upward tease of Ren’s lips disappears behind a shelf of Russian literature, as he takes the opportunity to explore the aisles. It’s a small corner bookshop, crowding in all available space between the two larger structures that sandwich it. He can tell Goro had somehow inherited it — all of the quirky, mismatched shelves and chairs look as if they’d been transported from the 70’s, and the air hangs still against the stray beams of sunlight coming in through the high-placed windows, time itself stopped for this cubic plot of land. Plants all along the walls proliferate their vines across the shelf-tops, lending the place a sleepy jungle look. Ren could imagine Goro, too, growing old in this hermetic capsule. How long had he spent hidden here, away from the world? How many minutes into hours, hours into years?

 

He finds the book he’s looking for and deftly unwedges it from between its neighbors, carrying it up to the front register. “Just a ninety-minute train ride,” he says casually, even though it’s anything but. Including the bus ride from Hadano Station, the trip is closer to the two-hour mark, actually. “I’m helping my parents unpack this weekend.”

 

Goro looks up from the notebook he’s jotting something down in to meet Ren’s gaze. “They’re lucky to have such a dedicated son.” Ren sets the book down on the counter: a copy of _Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage_ , and Goro smiles politely. “Are you a big Murakami fan?”

 

Ren shrugs. “Not really. He’s a good read for commutes, though. Easy to pick up where you left off.”

 

“I’m surprised. I thought you might be, as his work revolves so much around dreams and cognition.” A pointed statement, for sure.

 

Ren ignores it. “I like his more realist work. This one’s about a guy trying to figure out why his four university friends suddenly cut off contact with him a decade ago.”

 

“I’m familiar,” Goro responds curtly, though if he’s more irked at the presumed ignorance of the synopsis or at the coded message, Ren’s not sure. “How did you find me?”

 

“Oh, you know.” He leans against the counter, palms catching the metal edges. “I asked my parents’ neighbors, and they were very happy to tell me about the charming young man who runs the little bookstore across town. Besides, you didn’t change your first name, which was a dead giveaway.”

 

“A regular Sherlock Holmes.” Goro shakes his head, before glancing at the book on the counter. He’s wearing, it seems, the barest of quirked lips. “Don’t buy this one. It’s not Murakami’s best. If you’ll indulge me, I have some better reads for you.”

 

He doesn’t bother to see if Ren will follow, but of course he does. Into the stacks again, this time on a path plotted out with the certainty of a man who spent long, intimate hours learning the layout of every single shelf by heart. He watches the musculature of Goro’s back ripple under his shirt, fluid like an ocean wave. It distracts him enough that he nearly runs right into Goro, who’s stopped in front of a shelf and is busy picking out a book with a self-satisfied grin.

 

“Of course, I’d be remiss not to recommend you this,” he says, dropping it into Ren’s hands. It’s _Arsène Lupin, Gentleman Burglar_.

 

“Ha ha, very funny,” Ren says, replacing the book on the shelf. “I prefer the anime.”

 

“If you say so,” Goro returns, playing along. His fingers trace the spines along the shelf until they find what they’re looking for. “Here we are. Komatsu Akio, _Blind Eyes Forward_.”

 

Ren takes the book down; the cover is a tasteful, blue-green painting of a blindfolded man. Evocative. “I didn’t know he’d published a new book.”

 

Eyebrows jump up in surprised. “I’m impressed that you’ve heard of him. He’s not very well-known, even in most detective fiction circles.”

 

Ren shrugs. “A co-worker recommended him to me. He thought I’d like him.”

 

“And did you?”

 

Ren puts the book back. “Komatsu’s too long-winded for my taste.”

 

Goro frowns. “Long-winded?” he repeats, clearly affronted.

 

“Yeah. There’s too much sophistry, and he doesn’t leave enough clues for the reader to solve the case on their own. The conclusion gets...sprung on you.”

 

“Maybe his stories are less about the whodunits, and more about the existential dilemmas the characters find themselves in.” There’s a tinge of offense to Goro’s words. He forgot — Goro _likes_ the philosophical stuff.

 

Ren grins, full of shit. “Agree to disagree, then.”

 

Goro sighs, evidently exasperated at Ren’s pedestrian opinions, and leads them around a corner. “So,” Goro says, “if you want surrealism…” He picks out another book and hands it to Ren. “You can’t go wrong with _One Hundred Years of Solitude_.”

 

Ren grimaces; _a little on the nose, Goro_. “Why not _Love in the Time of Cholera_?” he counters.

 

Goro smiles. “Not my favorite Márquez.”

 

“And why’s that?”

 

“Because.” Goro’s voice takes on a softer pitch, cautious, before stepping away. “It assumes that lovers do not change, even after many years.”

 

“It’s why they reunite at the end. Isn’t that a good thing?”

 

“It’s terrifying, actually. The prospect of never changing.” Goro nods in the direction of the front register. “Shall I ring you up?”

 

Ren pays for the book, even though he already owns a copy. He’ll read it on the train going back to Tokyo tonight, and wonder if Arcadio reminds Goro of his own father, or simply of a family he was never allowed to have. Goro seals the book in a thin, brown paper pouch, along with all the other secrets between them.

 

“Please, Amamiya-san, I would ask you not to come back.” He hands Ren the bag. “It wouldn’t be prudent of you to see me again.”

 

He doesn’t say yes or no. Goro must know how he’ll respond.

 

 _Please, Akechi-san. You should know that I’m not good at doing what people tell me to do_.

 

-

 

How does one comport oneself when met with a ghost? All week, his mind lingers too long in Hadano, on the small corner bookstore hidden behind the hills and slopes of a town outside of time. During coffee breaks, over lunch with his co-workers, on the commute home. The numbers nested in his spreadsheet taunt him to reveal his sleepless sixteen-year-old self. The ancient feelings of loss, of guilt — they threaten to flood the dams.

 

If he ignores it, he’ll have to live with a decades-long haunting. And like any house with good bones, he deserves an exorcism.

 

The next weekend, he suggests to his parents: why not take a long walk around town, get the blood flowing in their legs? And they could visit an old friend of Ren’s, who owns a bookshop across town — don’t they need fresh reading material, anyway?

 

So it happens that on a Saturday afternoon, their somewhat ragtag group of three push through the front door of Izanagi no Shoten, to be met with Goro’s stunned but vexed expression.

 

Ren clears his throat. “Mom, Dad, this is my friend from high school I was telling you about.”

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Amamiya.” Goro looks as though he’s about to pop several veins in his neck. A brilliant display of control, really, that he doesn’t. “How very lovely to meet you.”

 

Mr. Amamiya simply nods in greeting before venturing off slowly to browse; his wife stays behind to chat. “Goro-kun, was it?” she says, her sharp eyes grazing every inch of him. Her hardset jaw makes her look severe, and every word likely comes off harsher than she means it. “Ren-kun has told me much about you. I am impressed to hear that you already own your own business at your age. Our Ren-kun is merely a temp.”

 

“A temp?” Goro turns to Ren and grins. “So very like you. A ghost in the wind. A true phantom thief.”

 

“Mm,” he says. The truth: nothing will ever replace the thrill of being a Phantom Thief.

 

“Ren-kun hasn’t mentioned you before today,” his mother continues. “Were you two close friends?” She looks between them, though Ren isn’t sure from whom she’d rather an answer.

 

“Not at all. I believe your son may have dodged a bullet there,” Goro says, shooting an all-too-amused glance in Ren’s direction, who responds by rolling his eyes.

 

“He was at Shujin with me,” Ren prevaricates. “A year above. We played chess together, sometimes.”

 

“A year older?” His mother tsks. “You should take after your senpai, Ren-kun. Look at him, he’s already doing so well for himself, and where are you? Learn from him sometime, will you?”

 

Ren wants to laugh at the idea of ever calling Goro _senpai_ , but there’s a curious demeanor frosting over Goro’s face. All mirth at Ren’s expense had fallen away. “Actually, Amamiya-san,” he says crisply, “when I was in high school, I was going down a bad path. If anything, Ren is the one who had a positive influence on _me_.”

 

To say that the Amamiyas were collectively rendered speechless by this assertion would be an understatement. Ren’s mother recovers quickly, though, her face softening as she leans forward to grasp Goro’s hands between her own. “Is that so?” she says quietly. “Here I was thinking that Ren-kun is lucky to have a friend like you, but it seems that you are lucky to have him as well.”

 

And just as quickly as she had reached forward, her hands fall back to her sides. By this time, Ren’s father had come back around and rejoined them, and he waves an impatient hand at his wife. “Stop bothering the boys and let them catch up,” he says gruffly. “Let’s wait for Ren-kun outside.” Hand in hand, they amble towards the front door, their exit signalled only by the faint tinkle of the welcome bell.

 

Ren steals a glance at Goro, who looks like he wants to say about five different rude things and eventually settles on, “You are a devious and manipulative man, Amamiya.”

 

“Not everything I do has an ulterior motive, Goro,” he replies glibly. “They overworked themselves before retirement. I brought them here so they’ll be able to kill some time on their own, or else they’ll die of boredom.”

 

“Yes, of course.” Goro rests his chin in the brook between his thumb and index finger. “Though, I confess, I’m confused by them.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well...your mother. She was critical of you before I praised you, and then it was as if I’d flipped a switch. And you father said absolutely nothing.”

 

Ren laughs. “That’s just what most parents are like, Goro. Not horrible, but not great, either. Just terribly mediocre.”

 

“I see.” His eyes seem distant, suddenly.

 

Ren peeks over his shoulder at the door, beyond which his parents were likely gossiping about the other elderly couples in their neighborhood. “Well, I shouldn’t make them wait too long. Maybe we’ll see you again next week.” He gives a small wave, heading towards the door.

 

Goro crosses his arms, letting slip mild endearment on his face. “If you insist on bothering me, can I at least request you stop bringing your parents to my place of work, and have you come by my apartment for dinner instead.”

 

Ren spins around on his back heel. “Sure. Will I get to meet the wife and kid?”

 

Goro raises his eyebrows. “Ah yes, of course. That is, if you don’t mind being bored to death by domesticity.”

 

“Promise I won’t be. And if I am, I’ll sue for gross negligence.”

 

Goro just smiles patiently. “I’ll text you my whereabouts.”

 

Who even says “whereabouts,” anyway? They exchange numbers, and Ren saves his contact on Goro’s phone as, simply, “Phantom.”

 

-

 

Before the sun dips behind the jagged rise of Mt. Oyama, Ren arrives in Hadano Station on the Odakyu, chasing its descent across the length of Japan. Cast in warm vermillion glow, the city reveals a new kind of beauty; unlike Tokyo, shorter, stouter, a still sprawl in the verdant shadow of a mountain. Goro lives across town from the station and from Ren’s parents, so the bus ride offers an unofficial tour, winding and diving between family homes and the occasional onsen, for which Hadano is most frequently a tourist spot.

 

Ren’s mother, of course, had been ecstatic to hear that he’d be spending more time with his more put-together friend, but Morgana had been less enthused. “Are you sure this is such a good idea?” the cat had asked, as Ren was slipping his arms into a light jacket.

 

“I highly doubt he’s planning to kill me again,” Ren said with a smirk.

 

“That’s not what I meant, you idiot,” Morgana returned, “and you know it.” He sighed; of course, after all these years, he knew there was no changing Ren’s mind once it had been set upon to do something. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Ren had told him, scratching the cat between the ears, before leaving.

 

Now, in front of Goro’s door, he isn’t so sure. His throat takes on a pulse of its own, and he breathes as if he were drowning. _Calm down, it’s just Goro_. Steeling his nerves, regaining control of his arms, he leans forward and knocks once, twice.

 

The door swings open promptly; Ren wonders how long Goro had been sitting there, waiting for him. Not long enough, evidently, to ruffle his appearance; Goro is wearing the same iteration of stuffy prep school attire like he always used to, a v-neck blue sweater and cream-colored chinos, except tonight he’s got a blazer thrown over the mix. He looks, incorrigibly, like he’d accidentally wandered into a college professor cosplay convention. And yet, Ren finds he can’t tear his gaze away.

 

“Welcome,” Goro says, after a considerable length of time. “Come in, I’ll take your jacket for you.”

 

Obediently, Ren steps inside and shucks off his outermost layer, which Goro hangs in a small alcove by the door. Ren takes the moment to glance around — it’s a compact, modern-style apartment, tall vertical eggshell white met with a clean and polished hardwood floor. Neatly arranged in the living room area are a simple beige couch, a TV and console, and woven baskets bursting with colorful children’s toys: a plane, a fire truck, superhero action figures. There’s a wall separating the room from what Ren presumes is the kitchen, but he can catch a glimpse of the pale linoleum and pinewood cabinets.

 

A sudden, warm mass attacks his leg and holds on fast. “Onii-chan!” it yelps, muffled through Ren’s jeans.

 

A woman quickly follows in, crouching to pry the small boy from Ren’s limbs. “I’m so sorry,” she says, laughing, when she’s returned to her full height. Long brown hair tumbles over her shoulders, though he can see her darker roots growing out at the top of head. “He hasn’t sat still since he learned how to walk. I’m Ayako, and the little one is named Takeshi. Amamiya-san, wasn’t it?” She holds out her one free hand not wrapped around her son, now playing with the collar of his mother’s dress, for Ren to shake.

 

Obligingly, Ren takes it. “Yeah, but you can just call me Ren.” He’s never really liked formality, after all.

 

“Ren-san, then.” Ayako, evidently, insists on it. “Come on, you two,” she says, gesturing towards the kitchen, “the food will get cold — let’s continue conversing over dinner.”

 

Ren lets them lead the way, and isn’t surprised to find the kitchen similar cramped quarters as the rest of the apartment. A round table, set with steaming plates of food, sits at the back, with four mismatched chairs — evidently, seats had to be rustled up for Ren’s invitation.

 

“I’m sorry my home is tight on space,” Ayako says with a slight bow. “Goro-kun told me you live in Tokyo — it must be such a change from your glamorous lifestyle.”

 

“Nonsense.” Ren shoots her a genuine smile. “My apartment, if you can believe it, is about half the size of this. I don’t know what Goro’s been telling you, but I’m not exactly living the lifestyle of the rich and famous — I’m just a temp.”

 

“Is that so?” she says, laughing. Setting her son on the chair next to hers, she begins to pour a bottle of Asahi into three accompanying glasses. “Ren-san, would you like a drink?”

 

“Yes, please,” he says, accepting the first one, but is roundly cut off by Takeshi climbing into Goro’s lap and shouting, “Go-Go!”

 

“Oh, goodness!” Ayako sets the beer down mid-pour to collect her son into her arms again. “How did he get there so fast?”

 

“Go-Go?” Ren looks at Goro, smirking.

 

“Ah, yes.” Goro reddens slightly.

 

“Takeshi-kun can’t say Goro-kun’s full name yet, so…” Here, she clears her throat. “Ren-san, tell me about your life in Tokyo. What is being a temp like? What do you do for fun?”

 

“Um.” Ren helps himself to some rice. “It’s not exciting as you probably think. Being a temp means I’m constantly moving between offices, but if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. And, honestly, I don’t do much for fun.”

 

“Nothing!” Ayako exclaims, while Takeshi, now bound to her lap with an iron-strong arm, echoes the words from his mother’s mouth. “Surely there must be something? Even Goro-kun has his hobbies, don’t you?”

 

“You do, do you?” Ren asks, raising an amused eyebrow.

 

Goro returns the expression. “Hardly anything as scintillating as you’re thinking.”

 

“Hm.” He takes a biteful of vegetable as the table falls into a brief silence. Looking between the other two, he asks, “So how’d you two meet, anyway?”

 

“Ah,” Ayako starts brightly, “we’re —” But she pauses, fingers to her lips, and glances at Goro.

 

“I moved in next door,” Goro continues evenly. He flashes a smile at Ren. “She was extremely helpful in regards to my smooth transition in Hadano.”

 

“Uh huh.” Ren surveys them once again. “Sparks flying, I’m sure.”

 

“It was…” Goro turns to Ayako. “What’s the expression? ‘Love at first sight?’”

 

“Goro-kun!” Ayako says, hiding her laughter behind her hand. “You know the expression, silly!”

 

She snaps to attention, however, when the drag of Ren’s chair scrapes against the cheap linoleum. He’s stood up. “Ren-san…?”

 

“Sorry, Ayako-san. I need to get some fresh air. And _Goro-kun_ will keep me company.” He stares pointedly at the man in question.

 

Goro gamely throws his arms up in an easy shrug, as if he’d just been tasked with something he’d secretly been hoping for all along. “If you need me, then yes.”

 

“Okay,” Ayako says uncertainly, bouncing Takeshi lightly on her lap, who had begun to coo unintelligible baby gibberish.

 

Goro lingers behind Ren a whole meter as they step outside and wind down the stairwell to street level. Ren begins to wish he’d picked up a smoking habit, if only to keep his nervous hands busy for just this moment. He rounds on Goro, who wears equanimity like a champ. “Don’t lie to me like this.”

 

“What on earth are you talking about?” Goro asks patiently.

 

But Ren can see right through him. That practiced ease, the enunciated and careful speech. He knows the real Goro — the real Goro, all raw nerves and none of the fluidity. The mask versus the man.

 

“Who are they really?” Ren challenges.

 

The crimson tint of Goro’s irises hold fast, until they give way, finally, to a pained laugh. “Maybe you should’ve been the one to go into detective work.”

 

“Don’t be stupid. Anyone worth their salt would’ve seen through that horrible farce.” So very like Goro to think he’s a competent actor when the exact opposite is true. It’s his adherence to perfection that’s the tell; the beauty of a Persian rug, after all, is that it’s got a single flaw, left room for God.

 

Goro lets out a slow, steady sigh. “They really are my neighbors,” he says finally. “Ayako-san is much too kind and understanding.” His eyes slide towards Ren. “Like someone I know.”

 

Ren groans. “Why go through all this? Making me jump through hoops like this?”

 

“It wasn’t purposeful. I panicked when you saw me at the _konbini_ and said anything that would make you go away.”

 

“That was the thing you came up with? You thought a wife and kid would make me never want to see you again?” Something subterranean, a primal rage, threatened to explode forth in Ren.

 

“Yes,” Goro says firmly, before passing a hand through his hair. A pause. He’s debating whether he should explain. “Because if you thought I was happy, you’d leave me alone. You have an irritating habit of attaching yourself to lost causes, you know.”

 

Ren’s mouth gapes in disbelief. “I do not.”

 

“Don’t you, though?” Goro takes on that self-satisfied tone that Ren has hated since the day they met. “Sakamoto, Kitagawa, Okumura, all of them. Futaba-san even came running to you for it.”

 

He catches himself before he can get angry — Goro’s deflecting. “You called yourself a lost cause. So I take it you’re not doing well.”

 

Goro’s eyes turn steely. “I am coping. I do not require your pity, Amamiya Ren.”

 

He turns; the conversation is finished. Ren feels childish for wanting to get the last word, but then again, he’s not the only petty one. “That’s it, then? That’s how we’re leaving things?”

 

Goro’s gait stalls. “Yes. So come inside, or go home, Amamiya-san.”

 

He turns too — he’s made his choice. But not before trying for the last word. “Didn’t you say something a while back about how we were connected by fate?”

 

Despite himself, Goro laughs. “You’ve held onto that silly thing I said many years ago.”

 

“Don’t be stupid. I’d never do anything as sentimental as that.” He kicks the ground with his shoe to make it scuff. “But I did always consider us friends, Goro.”

 

He doesn’t go back inside to play out the rest of their horrible dinner party. Instead, he takes the late train back to Tokyo, finds the closest Big Bang Burger, and gorges himself full on all the things he wants to tell Goro, but can’t.

 

-

 

He’s not expecting to hear from Akechi Goro ever again. On Monday, he revisits the sensation of loss; on Tuesday, it begins to greet him as an old friend. Certainly nothing he hasn’t been through before.

 

To his surprise, Wednesday brings the gentle ping of his phone as he’s trying to make sense of a company spreadsheet: Goro wants to know, would he be amenable to go hiking in the foothills of Mt. Kobo and visit a temple this weekend?

 

His fingers hover over the virtual keyboard. _Sure_ , he finally texts back.

 

It’s as if the previous weekend never happened. Goro meets him at Hadano Station, and they fall into a comfortable, easy-going conversation with no lulls. Here they were: no pretense, no hidden identities, no burden of expectation. As if they’d been doing this for the past ten years.

 

They circle on paths around the peak of the mountain, and on the way down, slowing to catch their breaths, they stop at a small, slightly worn-down temple, wooden beams so brown they look as though they might collapse under their own weight. For the weekend, there’s almost no one there. Some parents toting their children, a couple of students praying to pass their exams, but otherwise, it’s quiet. Fine by them: Ren has a feeling they prefer it this way.

 

Without speaking, they light their incense, standing side-by-side in front of the Buddha, close enough that Ren can hear the soft, gentle puffs of Goro’s breath. He glances at him — Goro’s eyes are already closed, and he’s bowed deep in reverence. He’s taking this seriously; after all, he knows from experience the cruelty and fickleness of gods.

 

Ren, himself, is at a loss. What could he possibly pray for now that he’s seen divinity and back? Answers for which there are no questions? He wants to know, for example, if his grief will ever leave him. If the voiding echo will simply one day become a bad memory. He wants to know how much grief a 26-year-old is allowed to endure.

 

He finishes first, so he waits by the entrance, taking in the abrasive mountain air. It’s fall, so the leaves around him are starting to take on an orange tinge, the color of sunset. How it must look when trees are indistinguishable from sky. Goro joins him at his side, several minutes later.

 

“What did you pray for?” Goro asks him.

 

“Some peace and quiet. You?”

 

“For the good health and long life of everyone I know.”

 

They’re both telling the truth, in shades. And they know where the other is leaving things out. They share a secretive smile between them, before Goro takes one last look around.

 

“I’ve always liked this temple,” he announces, not to anyone in particular, but knowing full well that Ren will pick up on his thoughts with both hands, as he always does. “The others get too crowded. And at this altitude, you have to work for your breath.”

 

The descent, however, is easier on their lungs. By the time they get to the bottom, it’s like the temple has cleared all of the bad portents from their bodies. At the station, as they’re waiting for Ren’s evening train home, Goro touches him on the shoulder.

 

“Can I ask you for something, Ren?”

 

“Go for it.”

 

His tone, his eyes, his hands are all hesitant. “Will you let me visit you in Tokyo sometime?”

 

That’s not the question he was expecting. Ren blinks once, letting the request register fully. “Sure. Morgana would be interested in seeing you again, too.”

 

“Morgana…” Goro sounds wistful. “I almost forgot about the cat.”

 

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

 

He laughs — light, airy. “Next weekend?”

 

“Next weekend, then.”

 

-

 

The monotony of the work week makes time fly by — five days of balancing endlessly continuous spreadsheets and five nights of microwave dinner and falling asleep in front of the TV, and it’s Saturday again. Ren doesn’t set his alarm today and pulls the covers over his head when the sunlight begins to pour in; he gets to sleep in when he doesn’t have to catch the 8:15 train out of Shibuya. Still, when it turns nine, Morgana paws at the huddled mass under the blankets.

 

“Oi, sleepyhead. You still have to meet him when he gets in, you know.”

 

Of course, he’s never needed an alarm clock when he’s had a nagging cat. Ren throws off the covers, perhaps too dramatically, setting Morgana off with a yowl, and squints at his window. The yellow morning light glints off the glittering steel-and-glass structures, sending up a surreal, sci-fi vibe, and suddenly the city feels constricting, more suffocating than usual. Ren has to wonder — is today a homecoming? Or it is confirmation for Goro’s departure?

 

He ends up running late, anyway. Morgana clicks his tongue at Ren from inside his backpack (how does a cat even _do_ that?): “I told you not to take a twenty-minute shower — _careful!_ ” he yelps, as Ren swings the bag over his shoulder a little too roughly.

 

“Save it, unless you can magically grow wings and fly us there,” Ren quips, skidding as he slams his door shut and rounds the corner.

 

Even in the turbulent crowd around Shimo-Kitazawa Station, it isn’t hard to find Goro, clad in a smart-looking tan peacoat, making Ren instantly feel underdressed, who’d thrown on a somewhat ragged hoodie earlier in his haste. Black leather gloves squeeze around a paper coffee cup; Ren can’t tell if Goro is anxious, or pissed.

 

“You’re late,” he greets Ren with a pleasant smile. Oh — he’s definitely pissed.

 

“Traffic,” Ren says simply, before gesturing to the street. “Shall we?”

 

They start down the sidewalk, weaving in between the groups of giggling teenage girls and tourist families until they’re just a few more faces in the crowd. Morgana pokes his head out of Ren’s backpack. “Oh, you really are alive,” he says.

 

Goro, accommodatingly, laughs. His earlier irksome mood must’ve evaporated quickly. “In the flesh and blood,” he says with an ironic flourish of the hand. “Though I don’t know how, if I’m to be completely honest.”

 

“Morgana’s still here after Mementos collapsed, because we all remembered him,” Ren explains. “Maybe it’s the same for you.”

 

“Maybe,” Goro says, growing quiet for a moment. Then: “I just woke up, afterwards. I can’t remember what happened after...well.” He turns to Ren with a smile. “Does this mean the person I am now is an invention entirely of your own cognition?”

 

“Hardly. I could never invent someone so insufferably self-assured of his own genius.”

 

He laughs. “Touché.”

 

The neighborhood around Shimo-Kitazawa is a bustling grid of cafes and little shops. Neither with the inclination to browse or buy anything, they wander aimlessly through the stream of pedestrians. It’s an odd feeling — both of them tourists and yet not tourists, once holders of the fate of everyone else around them, and now so painfully normal, complete with jobs solely to let them eat, sleep, and keep themselves alive. It’s like they’ve been cut and paste out of the wrong magazine, it’s like they’ve been placed in an advertisement touting a lifestyle in which they don’t belong.

 

Where does one ache end and the next begin? Or has it become a kind of viral, sustained pain, like holding a breath too long underwater?

 

They stop for lunch at one of the nearby cafes, where Ren gets a sandwich and surreptitiously feeds Morgana under the table. Goro orders a salad, and doesn’t even take his gloves off to eat.

 

“Ren,” he begins placidly, “as we’re in Shibuya…” He offers a smile instead of saying what comes next.

 

“Yongen-jaya?” To which Goro nods. “It’s changed a lot...the cafe isn’t there anymore.”

 

“Still.” Goro tilts his head to the side. “If you would humor me.”

 

The walk isn’t far — just to the south, the chaotic latticework of streets they both know by heart. Ren hadn’t been back in several years, made it a point not too, and since then, several new storefronts had popped up in place of the florist, the hardware store, the bakery. Still, the familiarity of the streets seems to stir something delicate in Goro. “The old haunts,” he murmurs under his breath, as they turn down the narrow street where Ren and Goro had spent most afternoons in their teenage years.

 

And so they come to a stop in front of a Cafe LeBlanc that is no longer Cafe LeBlanc, an uncanny twin wearing the same brick facade and heavy wooden door and domed awning, but with an entirely different name. Whatever connection either of them had to this place, it’s now lost to history, exists only in memory. Last Ren heard, it’d been turned into an arcade bar, and was being lauded as the newest neighborhood hotspot for fashionable young adults. Ren had thrown out in disgust whatever publication he’d read that in.

 

Morgana yawns and shifts sleepily from his place on Ren’s back. “I’m going to head off,” he announces. “Looks like you two might need some time alone.” The sudden lightness of Ren’s backpack coincides with the soft pad of cat paws against the ground, and then he’s gone.

 

Goro turns to Ren. “If it’s not too much to ask, why did Sakura-san not continue the business?”

 

“Ah, that.” He looks anywhere, anywhere but Goro or the building itself. “That’s because Sojiro started to get sick. Alzheimer’s.” His mouth goes dry. “And Futaba and I didn’t feel like we should keep it open without him.”

 

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Goro reaches out towards Ren, but stops halfway, letting his hand fall back to his side.

 

“It’s okay.” Even though it’s not okay. “That’s life, isn’t it.” A statement.

 

A chilled breeze picks up and drags its icy tendrils across their faces. Ren is wishing he had the foresight to wear a thicker hoodie, at least, but he never much had the skill for clairvoyance, after all.

 

This time Goro’s hand does reach its target, curled gently around Ren’s forearm. “Sakura-san,” he’s saying, “would be glad to know, I think, that this is where I remember being happiest in Tokyo.”

 

His eyes meet Goro’s, now ablaze with the luminescence of late afternoon sunlight. It makes him want to back away, but he can’t. His feet are rooted still. His whole body is.

 

“What?” he asks weakly.

 

He expects Goro to tear his gaze away; instead, it remains intensely where it is. “Are you happy here? In Tokyo, I mean?”

 

Of course Goro would ask him the kind of question he wouldn’t be honest in answering himself. Ren doesn’t mind frankness — he just doesn’t know how to pick apart that complex web inside of him. He chooses his words carefully. “I’m not unhappy,” he says finally. “But I also have a feeling that has everything and nothing to do with Tokyo.”

 

Goro’s thumb and forefinger rest on his chin, the thinking man’s pose. “I know what you mean.” He closes his eyes, like getting lost in reverie. “It doesn’t matter where you are. Your problems follow you.” The red-brown tint of his irises reveal themselves again with a startling clarity. “Come with me. I have somewhere I need to go.”

 

To Yongen-jaya Station, and then westward they go. Out of the coruscating clusters of skyscrapers and high-rises, past the primly manicured urban parks, through the neatly Lego-ed shopping districts, into sparser land, where residences are the rule. Ren recognizes some of the bed towns they zip through, but the one they stop at, far on the outermost reach of Tokyo, is foreign to him.

 

They wander for quite a bit, Ren taking in the lush greenery so rare in big city, before Goro slows his step at their destination.

 

It’s a cemetery.

 

One that isn’t so large to get lost in, but Goro picks his way expertly through the rows of gravestones. The one that’s theirs, evidently, is easy to pick out, anyway — almost a third of the size of any other, covered in a thick layer of dirt and grime, crumbling away at the corners, conspicuously lacking any flowers or food offerings. The only one that’s been neglected for what looks like years.

 

Goro sinks to a squat. “Now, this won’t do,” he mumbles, and taking a handkerchief from his pocket, starts to clear the black-brown soot from the headstone. It’s a white, clean marble underneath. Ren catches a glimpse of the name being unearthed: _Akechi Koto_.

 

He should be afraid, he thinks, of what Goro’s just shown him. Any other sane person would be. But maybe he isn’t quite sane. But he isn’t afraid at all.

 

The sun is beginning to set again, throwing a golden shroud over everything in her earthly domain. Silence eclipses, for what feels like millennia, until Goro stands, gathering himself fully upright again.

 

“My mother’s name is the only thing I regret giving up,” he says to Ren. He pauses. “Well, no, there are other things.” He glances at his friend. “Does it make sense to you now, Ren?”

 

“What does?”

 

“Me.”

 

Ren can’t help it — every time Goro sets himself up to be torn down, Ren will build him up instead. “You’ve always made perfect sense to me, Akechi Goro.”

 

Goro’s eyes widen slightly. “I see.”

 

When they walk back to the train station, they do a little closer this time. Shoulders grazing. The heat of Goro’s arm against the sleeve of Ren’s shirt. They may even look like the last two people left in the entire world.

 

“Thank you.” Goro extends his hand. “I don’t think I would have been able to come back by myself.”

 

Ren takes the handshake, even though at this point, they’re well past this level of intimacy. But he knows what the gesture says: _we’re all just trying to get through life in one piece_.

 

-

 

It becomes routine: Ren visits Goro every weekend he’s around Hadano to help out his parents, and even sometimes when he doesn’t see his parents at all. Strange how tidy Goro’s presence slots into his life, strange how it feels it should’ve belonged there all along.

 

He starts to feel bad about Goro’s monopolization of his time, so he drops by Futaba’s for a coffee one afternoon. Her apartment is in sleek and trendy Roppongi, of course, a domicile supported by her career as a professional gamer, and a stone’s throw from Akihabara. He’s impressed — in such a bustling part of town, she still manages to be a bit of a homebody.

 

“Ren!” she exclaims when he comes in. “You sneaky turd. Here,” she says, shoving a hot mug into his hands, “tell me how amazing my coffee brewing’s gotten. It’ll blow your mind.”

 

 _I’ve got something that’ll really blow your mind_ , he wants to say, but he figures they should ease into the topic. They catch up first, Futaba relegating him to stories about all the different cons and tournaments she’s traveled to, Ren about the various office workers that have severely undercut his faith in humanity over the past few weeks. And, of course, where he’s been all those weekends. About the dead man walking.

 

“Akechi?” Her eyeballs almost pop out of her sockets. “How’s that possible?”

 

“Same way we have Morgana, probably…”

 

“Damn. The Metaverse sure did work in mysterious ways.” She blinks at him, owlish through her glasses. “And he’s...okay?”

 

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Ren shrugs. “Seems like all of his body parts reattached correctly, including his pretentious ass.”

 

“No, I mean like…” She makes several vague, strained hand gestures before simply pointing at her head. “Here?”

 

Ren laughs. “Well, that was always debatable. But he’s not going to try and kill me again, if that’s what you mean.” Second time he’s said that. He wonders if he really got over it the first time.

 

“Yeah, well.” Futaba sticks out her tongue. “We all agreed he was untrustworthy.”

 

Ren sinks his chin into the heel of his palm and looks out the window. The sky is overcast, today. “We also all agreed that it wasn’t really his fault.”

 

“True…” She sighs loudly, and sets her mug onto the coffee table. “Ren...are _you_ okay, though?”

 

Now it’s his turn to look bug-eyed. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, it’s just that…” She follows his gaze out the window. “None of us have really heard from you, ya know? I was surprised, actually, when you texted me about coming over. I know you’re not doing anything dumb or dangerous, but...you kind of just...disappeared.”

 

“I’ve just been busy. I saw Ryuji a few months ago,” he says defensively.

 

She pouts at him. “And Sojiro?”

 

Ah. Caught red-handed. He does feel guilty about that one. “I’m...going to. I’m planning on it,” he finishes lamely.

 

She looks down at her fingers, threaded tightly together in her lap. “You know, when he...remembers, he misses you. A lot.” She steals a glance at him. “I get you’re afraid to see him, but he’s...our father.”

 

The last word is tentative, a light push to test the waters. Futaba’s right, though.

 

“I’ve been a shitty surrogate son and horrible adoptive brother, I know,” Ren says, taking her hands into his. “I’ll make up for it. I promise.”

 

Before he leaves, Futaba tugs on the sleeve of his shirt. “You sure you’ll be okay?” she asks, a little pursed frown on her lips.

 

He’s never been immune to Futaba’s sadness, not from day one. It stings him like no one else’s can. He leans in to kiss her on the forehead.

 

“Don’t worry about me,” he tells her. If only he could believe it himself.

 

-

 

When Goro opens his front door, Ren’s greeted with a wiry pair of spectacles staring back at him.

 

“You wear glasses now.” Ren doesn’t hide the faint surprise in his voice as he squeezes past Goro. Frankly, the apartment feels like a second home at this point, and he doesn’t care to inspect the implications of that.

 

“A _keen-eyed_ observation, Amamiya-kun.” He looks rather shy to have said his bad joke, and squints in Ren’s direction. “As I seem to recall, you did too. Contact lenses?”

 

“No, uh…” It’s his turn to look sheepish. “Those were fake.”

 

“Fake,” Goro repeats, staring at Ren without saying anything for a good long while. “That changes many things I know about you. Well, these are most definitely real. My sight, unfortunately, is starting to go.”

 

“What do you mean?” Ren can’t help but laugh at this. “You’re only twenty-six.”

 

“Twenty-seven, actually.” He sounds tired, suddenly, recounting his age. “Almost twenty-eight.”

 

Right — Goro is a year older. High school had a tendency, if Ren can remember, to create wide rifts between the years — how the senpais had always seemed much older, wiser, more imposing. Now, in adulthood, age had become compressed. A year is no difference at all.

 

“Well, have a seat,” Goro says, already settling into his couch. “I’m in the middle of editing my manuscript, but I should be done soon enough.” Ren follows him to the coffee table, strewn with stacks of paper. Goro already has a small pile in his lap, marking up a page with a red pen. _Manuscript?_ Of course — Goro is expert in compartmentalizing his life. The fact that this has never once come up in their conversations should not shock Ren at all.

 

He picks up one of the unattended manuscripts on the table. “Can I take a look?”

 

“If it’ll entertain you.” A casual delivery of words, but evidently, he’s embarrassed, because his hand goes up to tug the hair away from the back of his neck. The abrupt appearance of Goro’s skin, softly flush in the incandescent light, reminds Ren of geishas who leave the same area of skin unpainted, to suggest the naked, supple body underneath.

 

It almost works to distract Ren from the author’s name on the cover page, which now blares at him with its obviousness.

 

“ _You’re_ Komatsu Akio?”

 

“Yes,” Goro says, in a bored tone, as if he’d expected Ren to have figured it out ages ago.

 

“Then why’d you let me talk shit about you to your face?”

 

Goro chuckles. “Honesty was always your best attribute, Ren. Far be it from me to force you into a disingenuous opinion.” He scribbles a few more corrections in the margins of his current page. “That being said, I’m incorporating none of your input.”

 

“Have it your way. But the preface of your book should be an apology for being the nation’s leading cause of death by boredom.”

 

He hears Goro trying to stifle another laugh as he crosses into the kitchen. For the many times he’s visited, Ren has never actually eaten here, but it’s evening, and he’d neglected to have a proper lunch that day. He opens the fridge — there’s several onions, a potato, and a pitcher of water. “Goro,” he tries to shout around the partition, “where’s your food?”

 

“Hm?” Goro’s voice sounds distant, even a room away. “Oh, there should be curry in one of the cabinets.”

 

Goro’s kitchen, Ren discovers, is sparsely stocked. He roots through the place, finding a couple of bottles of soy sauce, mirin, sesame oil, salt and pepper shakers, and not much else. The mentioned box of curry, Ren finds languishing in the back corner of an otherwise empty compartment.

 

He opens and closes all of the drawers several times. “Goro. Where do you keep your knives?”

 

“What?” He swears Goro is being purposefully difficult today.

 

“I said —” He pops his head out of the kitchen, and throws a pointed look Goro’s way. “Where are your knives? And cutting boards? And anything else to make food, for that matter?”

 

“Oh, that.” Goro smiles. “Apologies, but you’re going to have to go next door and ask Ayako-san. Are you going to make curry? Please save some for me.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” He gathers the curry, onions, and potato into his arms. “Be back soon, honey,” he grunts, while fumbling to get the door open.

 

“Looking forward to it,” Goro says cheerfully, as it shuts behind Ren.

 

He has no arms to knock, so manages to press the doorbell with his nose. A muffled “Be right there!” comes from the other side, before Ayako pulls the door open. She brightens at the sight of him. “Ren-san! Here, let me help you with those.”

 

They bring his measly wares to the kitchen. He hasn’t seen Ayako’s apartment in a while, the last time being that terrible dinner farce, and he’d forgotten how warm and filled with life it feels. Her counters, for example, are short on space, a rice cooker, blender, knife block, and dish rack commanding most of it. Goro’s, on the other hand, are a pristine landscape.

 

“I have to apologize for my previous deception, Ren-san,” she says, before bowing deeply. “I shouldn’t have agreed to it, even if Goro-kun did promise to babysit Takeshi for the next year. But I can’t make excuses for my behavior.”

 

“Oh, um, it’s okay. Really, don’t worry about it. Goro’s idiocy is on him alone.” He takes a brief glance around. “Where is Takeshi, anyway?”

 

“He’s already asleep,” Ayako says, laughing. “Children tire themselves out easily, Ren-san. But I know he’s going to wake me up in the middle of the night again demanding to play with dinosaurs.”

 

For the apparent inconvenience she’d just described, Ayako seems happy for its occurrence, anyway. “Goodness,” she says, surveying the things Ren had brought over with a frown, “is this all he had?”

 

Ren can’t help grinning. “Yeah. He’s an idiot, all right.”

 

They settle on a procedure very quickly — Ren chopping up the vegetables, with a few generous additions from Ayako, and Ayako working on the stovetop and rice cooker. “I’m glad Goro-kun has a friend who would make sure he’s taken care of,” she says, as she runs the rice grains through cold water. “It’s an interesting change of pace to cook dinner without him.”

 

“Does he come over a lot?” He’s trying to concentrate on cubing the carrots, instead of other thoughts.

 

“Oh yes. Almost every weeknight.” She begins to strain the rice. “You’ve seen his kitchen, Ren-san — he can’t even fry an egg, the way it is.”

 

Ren snorts. “I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten it together yet. The Goro I know would’ve brought in the whole store catalogue the first week he moved in.”

 

Ayako blinks at him. “Oh no, you misunderstand, Ren-san. It’s quite purposeful.”

 

He looks at her. “I...don’t know what you mean.”

 

She sets the washed rice into the rice cooker, and pushes a few buttons. A chirpy, 8-bit melody sings from the machine. “I’m not sure how much I should tell you,” she says slowly, clasping her hands together. “How should I put it?” Her smile begins to falter. “Let’s just say that Goro-kun doesn’t trust himself around knives.”

 

Oh. “I didn’t know that.” How much of Goro does he actually know? What parts of himself does Goro still not trust to Ren’s care?

 

She nods, chewing on her bottom lip, and takes the time to drop the chopped vegetables into the roiling pot on the stove. “He isn’t very open with himself, is he,” she muses quietly. “I am not sure why he chose me to be privy to many of his secrets. Maybe it’s because I happened to be a very helpful neighbor.” Her eyes find Ren’s again. “Don’t tell him I told you, of course, but to be quite honest, he was touch-and-go for a while. When he first moved in, there were many times when he’d knock on my door in the middle of the night, in tears.”

 

Goro, open-hearted to a near-stranger? He can hardly believe it. “What’d he tell you?”

 

“Oh, you know, he can be evasive. But he made it clear that he’d done some terrible things that haunt him to this day, and that he was trying to atone for it.” She takes in a long breath. “You’re from his old life, aren’t you, Ren-san? He seems to think that whatever he did, it was unforgivable when it came to you.” She smiles, gently. “That’s probably why he asked Takeshi and me to pose as his family — however he worked it out, he thought it would make you happy.”

 

Ren leans against the pantry door, swiping a hand over his face. “You know him so well, you might as well be married.” It’s out before he can stop himself — what a petty thing to say, and he immediately feels poorly for it.

 

But Ayako just laughs. “Me and Goro-kun? Please don’t think that. He’s like my younger brother, but certainly the most troubled one. I helped raise my three younger brothers, you see — I’ve got a skilled hand at it.”

 

It makes sense, now; Goro had found the closest thing he could to a maternal figure. “Sorry for saying that before,” Ren mumbles.

 

“Don’t be. Besides —” and here she looks mischievous “— I have a feeling that it isn’t me he wants to be married to.”

 

He almost chokes. “I think that may be a little too generous.”

 

“Hm. You think so?” She turns the heat down on the burner, and they lapse into silence. In time, the rice cooker goes off, announcing itself with another cheerful tune, and Ayako packs everything into large Tupperware containers.

 

“Here,” she says, handing over the food in a tote bag, “so you don’t have so much trouble carrying it this time.”

 

“Thank you,” he tells her, though it feels like mere words of gratitude aren’t enough. For Ayako to care for people she barely knew without question — these were the kinds of adults Ren wishes they encountered more of in their youth. Maybe everything would’ve been different.

 

“No need,” she says, already pushing him towards the door. “Go eat before it gets cold. And tell Goro-kun that he can return the glassware whenever it’s convenient for him.”

 

“I will, I will. And really, thanks.”

 

“Anytime.” She holds the door open for him, and he’s almost crossed the threshold when she says, “Ren-san?”

 

“Yeah?” He turns around.

 

She’s wearing a smile, though there might be something sad in her expression. Or, simply, sympathetic. “Give it some time. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell the person you love the things that really matter. But it will come, one day.”

 

“Right.” He nods his head. “See you soon, Ayako-san.”

 

“Good night, Ren-san.”

 

When he gets back to Goro’s, the manuscripts have already been cleared from the coffee table, and Goro’s watching something on TV. “Ah, you’re back?” He reaches for the remote and turns off the screen. “Shall we eat?”

 

They spread their meal across the coffee table, cross-legged on shaggy rug around it, Ren doling out portions onto the few plates they were able to scrounge up from the kitchen. It goes fast — they’re both hungry, and soon each Tupperware container is scraped for all their worth, empty. Goro sits back, leaning against the seat of the couch.

 

“That reminds me. This isn’t the first time you’ve made curry for me.”

 

“Oh, right.” As if he could forget. But he had tried, when memories of LeBlanc only served to remind him of all the things he’d lost.

 

He wants to reach out and touch Goro. Just for a second, just to feel his skin beneath his own. Just to know the body is real.

 

“You were at Ayako-san’s for a long time,” Goro says, softly. “Did she tell you anything about me?”

 

“Uh, no, she didn’t say anything —”

 

“It’s okay. It’s not exactly a secret.” He smiles, as if to prove just how well-adjusted he is. “I have a therapist now and I take SSRI’s. Sometimes I still experience insomnia, but that’s about the extent of it.”

 

Goro’s eyes slide toward the clock on the wall: a purposeful diversion.

 

“It’s getting late,” he continues. “You should probably head out if you’re to catch your train.”

 

They walk down together to street level; Ren is loathe to leave. He barely has the heart to let his friend climb back up the stairs alone. “Ren,” Goro says suddenly, “text me if you need anything. Even if it’s just to talk.”

 

Clever, the way he shields his selfishness as an act of generosity. But Ren follows suit. “You do the same.”

 

-

 

They begin to talk more often during the week — not just through texting, but calling too. Goro seems to prefer the latter, with the enhanced ability to talk Ren’s ear off, but Ren doesn’t mind it; he never has. It’s easy, and this too becomes enmeshed within the daily rhythm of their lives. Like they had once had practice at it, like they are once again conspiring together as Phantom Thieves.

 

He feels bad about it, but Goro becomes the one Ren confides in, even over Futaba. He can’t help it — there’s a certain level of dismay undergirding his life that only Goro understands. _I’m visiting Sojiro today_ , he texts Goro very matter-of-factly one day.

 

 _Good luck! \o/_ , comes the instantaneous response. Ren has to laugh — Goro’s growing use of emojis is an unexpected but entirely welcome development.

 

He never likes going to the old folks home (or _assisted living care_ , Futaba would insist on him calling it), because it always reminds him of what he’d rather not think about. They’d chosen the facility together, a comfortable but glorified college dormitory that would give Sojiro a certain amount of independence, but with on-site staff that would attend to his medical and organizational needs. _He’s in the early stages for now_ , they’d been told by the physician, _but as his neurological functions decline, we’ll have to talk about next steps_.

 

 _What comes next_. Goro died and came back to life, they’d changed hearts of those who could not be changed, Ren had defeated the goddamn Demiurge, Morgana was kept alive through the sheer force of their love, but this — this would have no miracle in sight. It will be a undignified end, it will rend their souls from their bodies, and worst of all, it will all be terribly ordinary. Just another occurrence in the long story of humanity.

 

“Amamiya-san?” One of the women at the front desk smiles kindly at him. “I can bring you to see Sakura-san, now. Please follow me.”

 

Sojiro’s in a good mood today. Since Ren had last visited, a new row of houseplants have cropped up on the windowsill, and the man is humming as he prunes away some of the wilder tangles of vines. The first time they’d bought Sojiro a plant for his room here, it had been upsetting. He’d killed it when he forgot he’d already watered it five times that day. Futaba had burst into tears, and Ren held her hand the whole way home.

 

He doesn’t a see a watering can anywhere; they must be monitoring Sojiro’s gardening, now. It would explain why Futaba felt comfortable enough to buy him plants again.

 

“Ren, my boy!” Sojiro beams when he lifts his head out of the greenery. “Come in, don’t just stand around the door. Have some manners and sit down.”

 

Ren has to hide his grin. Truly, honestly, and completely, he’d missed Sojiro. “Ay ay, captain.” He bends down into an extremely bland-looking and uncomfortable chair, and Sojiro settles into the one across from him. “Here,” Ren says, lifting a plastic bag onto the table and pushing it towards Sojiro. “I got those little cakes that you like.”

 

“You spoil me, son,” he replies with equal parts gruffness and fondness. Then: a wink. “Hope you didn’t let any of the nurses see. They’re trying to limit my sugar intake.”

 

Ren laughs. “Of course not. It’s my job to fight the authoritarian institution.”

 

Sojiro smiles back. “Good man,” he says, and they both double over again, drunk with the hilarity of who-knows-what, and it feels so easy just like this, the way it was supposed to be, how Ren moved back to Tokyo after high school and was going to change the world, how he, Sojiro, and Futaba had built a wonderful home together, how Ren had finally found a father he liked. Stuck in the halcyon days, stuck in time, Ren wants to beg, _pause, pause, pause, let it stay like this for just a bit longer. Let me be selfish, indulge me, hear me, whatever god is still out there_.

 

He knows his prayers are just that: prayers.

 

After they share some of the contraband cakes together, they go for a stroll in the facility’s adjoining park, a quaint, little loop of land that is most days filled with old ladies practicing tai chi. Today, it’s mainly unoccupied, and the copse of maple trees are starting to turn their leaves a startling, brilliant blood-red.

 

“Sojiro,” Ren says, barely above a murmur, “Akechi Goro came back.”

 

“Ah?” Sojiro scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Oh, the popular TV detective who likes my coffee so much. Is that boy giving you trouble again?”

 

So they’re in the past again. It could be worse, to be honest, it _has_ been worse. Ren shrugs. “He’s always trouble. I don’t think I’ve had a quiet day since he came into my life.” He turns to Sojiro with a smile. “But he did say that Cafe LeBlanc is the only place in Tokyo that made him happy.”

 

“Is that so?” Sojiro’s cheeks are flushed, slightly pink, but it can’t hide the pride on his face. “Well, whaddaya know. At least one person in this damn city knows the value of a good cup of coffee.”

 

It’s getting late, so Ren brings the old man in soon after, and when he departs, he finds that whatever stone lay inside his heart doesn’t feel as heavy as it did this morning. Futaba would be proud of him. Before he can even think of what to text her, though, his phone starts to ring.

 

It’s Goro. “Hello?”

 

Goro sounds slightly breathless at the other end. “Ren! How did your visit with Sakura-san go?”

 

“Better than expected, actually. Are you...okay?”

 

“Good! I’m very glad to hear that.” A pause, filled with more hard breaths. “Apologies, I am climbing the hill behind my store at the moment. Ren, I called because I have something to ask of you.”

 

“Okay. What is it?”

 

Another series of exhales. “Well, I hate to impose on you like this, but would you mind coming over on Friday as opposed to your usual Saturday?”

 

“Yes,” Ren says quickly, “yes, I don’t mind at all.”

 

“Excellent!” Goro must’ve stopped, because he’s not panting anymore. “I will see you in a couple of days, then. If you’d like to stay the night, I can be an accommodating host.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Ren says simply. “Just feed me well in the morning, and you’ll be fine.”

 

“Noted.”

 

-

 

Ren takes off work an hour early that Friday so he can catch the 5:30 train to Hadano. Even then, he’ll be arriving a little after 7:30, far past a reasonable dinner time, so he scarfs down a quick sandwich on the train as he watches day turn into night. It’s already getting colder by the week; his breath fogs the chilled window, blending the horizon line in a thick haze. He falls asleep once and wakes up three stops before Hadano. Today’s his lucky day.

 

Goro greets him at the door by holding up what looks to be a large, wooden box. “Game of chess?” he says, grinning. Ren laughs — it was inevitable, he supposes.

 

“This is entrapment,” he gripes, setting his backpack, heavy with a change of clothes and toiletries, near the couch. “You’re a horrible host already.”

 

“I’ll use every opportunity tonight to prove you wrong,” Goro responds smugly. “For example.” He picking up Ren’s backpack and slings it over his shoulder, ignoring Ren’s protests as he disappears into an adjacent room, and returns with it gone. “You can sleep in my bed tonight. I’ll sleep here.” He pats the couch several times before sitting.

 

“Goro, you don’t —”

 

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself.” He opens the box and starts taking out the chess pieces. “It’s a pretty lousy mattress, if I do say so myself.”

 

Setting up the board is second nature, like the texts, like the calls, like everything else between them. Ren claims black and Goro takes white — the old designation. It used to mean something, at least to Goro. Now it’s just habit.

 

“I must confess,” Goro starts, as they put their pawns into play, “I didn’t bring you over tonight just to soundly defeat you at chess.”

 

“Hey, you never know,” Ren interjects. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, or whatever the saying is.”

 

“I’m keeping an open mind,” Goro says simply, before continuing. “I...thought I could use a friend. To commiserate, maybe.” He sighs softly. “I don’t think I can keep the shop open. The landlord’s raised the rent on it, and the amount of business I receive doesn’t warrant it. To be honest, I’m not invested in keeping it — I took it over from its previous owner — but it does present financial problems. Selling inventory to cover business expenses, for one, and then there’s the question of how to afford my own rent… I have enough savings for a few months, but further than that, I don’t know. I’ll have to ask my agent to negotiate an advance on my book, which is always a troublesome process.” He glances at Ren before quickly adding, “I’m not asking you for any solutions, I’m just sharing what’s been bothering me. I was recommended to.”

 

Ren grins. “By Ayako-san?”

 

Goro returns it. “Close. By my therapist. She’s also recommended physical exercise to help manage my stress, but I’m not sure how well that’s going.”

 

“Ah. Is that why you were, uh, climbing a hill when you called me?”

 

“Guilty.”

 

They share a laugh, which feels like everything and nothing that had come before. On opposite sides of the board, black versus white, it had once made sense, treading the thin line between friend and enemy. Now, what flows between them is an uncomplicated grey.

 

“Hey,” Ren says, “here’s a wild idea. Why don’t you move in with me?”

 

“Well, well.” Goro moves his rook forward. “Don’t you think we’re moving too fast? We haven’t even made it past our third date yet.”

 

Ren’s feeling cheeky. “You’ve already met my parents.”

 

“And you’ve met mine.” Guess someone else is, too.

 

The next move is Ren’s. “We could easily cover my rent between the two of us. You won’t have to travel so far every month to meet your agent, and my charming company is only an added bonus.”

 

Goro presses his lips together. “I’ll think about it,” he says, before decisively placing his bishop within range of the king. “And that’s checkmate. I see after ten years, you’ve not improved your game.”

 

“I’m rusty,” Ren insists.

 

“Sure.” Grinning, he checks his watch. “It’s only eight. What should we do?”

 

“Wanna watch a movie?”

 

They flip through the channels until they find something good. Goro, evidently, has become well-versed in cinema over the past decade, as he successfully sways Ren into conceding to _The Mirror_ by Tarkovsky. He’s also a talker, Ren discovers, cutting in over the movie dialogue to drop in behind-the-scenes trivia or various tidbits about the director’s life.

 

“Goro.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Just let me watch the movie.”

 

For all of Goro’s proselytizing, he falls asleep within forty minutes of the movie, dozing off on Ren’s shoulder. Sleeping, Goro appears unusually vulnerable. Like this, dreams undoing the knit between brows, he looks like any other twenty-something, unburdened from a difficult past.

 

Ren turns off the TV and carefully leans Goro away from him, against the arm of the couch, then finds two blankets in a nearby closet and throws one over Goro. The other he gathers around himself, settling in on the opposite end of the couch, watching the slow rise and fall of Goro’s chest until he, too, surrenders to sleep.

 

-

 

He’s startled awake by a sudden lurch, then the sound of a door ricocheting off of a tiled wall. In the dark, Ren can barely make out what’s in front of him: no Goro, blanket tossed haphazardly onto the ground.

 

Blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes, Ren stumbles blindly through the apartment, aided only by a rectangle of light that he presumes is the bathroom.

 

“Goro?”

 

The medicine cabinet is flung open, reflecting Ren’s concerned expression back at him in its mirrored door, and Goro is at the sink, struggling with what looks to be a prescription pill bottle.

 

“Go back to sleep, Ren.”

 

“No way.” He frowns. “Not until I know you’re okay —”

 

“I’m perfectly fine, Amamiya, and I will be more than fine once I can get this goddamn thing open —”

 

Ren holds out a gentle hand. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you curse in a while.” The last time, Goro had called him _trash, a piece of shit_ , etc. “Let me.”

 

After a moment of reluctance, Goro does hand it over. Good. Ren pushes down on the child-safety lid with his palm, turns it open, and rattles the contents. There’s only four left.

 

“I am trying not to become dependent on them,” Goro says, as if he thought Ren had already jumped to the worst possible conclusion, “but some nights, I must take one or else I’m not sleeping.”

 

“I understand.” He shakes one out and places it in the dip of Goro’s palm, who tosses it back and swallows it dry. He grimaces, Ren assumes, at the taste.

 

“The nightmares have become less frequent over the years.” Goro continues. “They were the worst when I first came out of the Metaverse. And also when I tried to avoid thinking about anything at all. I only started seeing a therapist a few years ago. After I moved to Hadano. I wanted the demons gone.” He laughs. “Literally and figuratively, I suppose.”

 

They don’t say anything for a while, merely holding each other’s gaze. Ren leans against the door jamb, arms crossed, and Goro taps the porcelain base of the sink with the ball of his foot, perfect 4/4 time. The fluorescent light throws a weird, blue shadow, making them both look a bit ill. Yet the deep red glow of Goro’s eyes is warm, a tide pool encompassing the incarnadine, radiant boy. Ren feels, despite everything, comforted by their vibrant color.

 

The spell is broken when Goro peels himself harshly off of the sink. “Well, thank you for listening,” he says quickly, squeezing past Ren, careful not to touch him at all. Out of concern, Ren follows him, and finds Goro in the bedroom, sitting at the edge of the mattress, looking half-bewildered. He glances out the window. The long dark, just before dawn.

 

“Will you be okay?” Ren asks.

 

“I suppose, after a while.”

 

“At least let me sit with you until you fall asleep.”

 

“A tempting proposition,” he murmurs. But not a “yes” or a “no.” Ren imagines Goro on a thin strait between the words, asking himself once again to choose between what he wants and what he thinks he ought to have. Knowing that sinks so many knives into Ren’s abdomen. He kneels in front of Goro, takes his hands into his own. The closeness of touch, after so long without. The language understood only by hands.

 

“Please trust me,” Ren says quietly.

 

Goro is taken aback. “You?” He brushes a stubborn curl out of Ren’s eyes. “I trust you more than anyone in the world.” The fingertips linger, traversing the length of Ren’s face, until the thumb finally catches on his bottom lip. Here, Goro leans in to meet it with his own — a brief peck, first, and then, reassured that Ren hasn’t pulled away, a kiss pressed with full weight. Lips part ways for a dalliance with tongues — oh, the tongue. The two of them gasping for air.

 

How much Ren has ached for this — how much like resolution this feels. As their mouths continue to find each other, he traces the length of Goro’s long, arched neck, down between the shoulderblades, down, further downward, where he finds the edge of Goro’s shirt, finding skin, finding solid flesh instead of a ghost, finding a body worth everything to him.

 

Goro abruptly pulls away. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

 

“Was it something I did?” Ren’s brain is still shot through with lust and he barely makes it through the confusion.

 

Goro also sounds confused. “What? No, you did nothing at all. In fact, you might have been too gracious.” He sighs, punching the bridge of his nose. “Do you not understand, Ren? You’ve made it very difficult for me to resist my selfishness, and I haven’t earned your forgiveness yet.”

 

“I don’t care about forgiveness.” And he’s still on his knees, because he is begging, begging Goro to take him at his word. “I want you to be selfish, because I am selfish, and because I’ve spent the past ten years dreaming about you and waking up without you.” It sounds stupid when he says it out loud, but he’s a desperate man — _please, don’t let me lose what I’ve just gotten back_.

 

“You can’t possibly mean that.” Goro sounds tired. And they are both tired — tired of what they can’t have, tired of the shitty hands they keep being dealt.

 

Ren is tired and he wants to go home. “Fine.” He gets to his feet. “I’m leaving.”

 

“Wait.” Goro reaches for Ren’s hand and, just as quickly, lets go. “I’m sorry. Don’t leave.” When Ren sits down next to him, the bed creaks and sinks under his weight. Goro frowns, a plaintive little expression. “I just can’t see what good I am to you.”

 

Ren smiles. This, after everything, is easy to explain. “You make me happy,” he says. “Just you being you.”  

 

-

 

He moves into Ren’s apartment — his has too many of the old, dark memories, the night terrors that crept up the wall. They have a small, quiet going-away party, just the four of them — Ren, Goro, Ayako, and Takeshi, and the three adults sip at white wine in paper cups as they watch Takeshi wheel around in the almost-empty apartment, arms outstretched.

 

“Takeshi-kun!” Ayako calls to her son, laughing. “Be careful, an airplane isn’t supposed to jump on so many boxes like that!”

 

“He’s going to grow up into an energetic young man,” Goro says, smiling. “An athlete, for sure.”

 

“You’ll visit, won’t you?” She turns to him, eyes kind. “Takeshi-kun keeps asking why he won’t see Uncle Goro around anymore.”

 

He has to bite down on his bottom lip, so hard that it almost bleeds. To his right, Ren calmly turns Goro’s hands in his palms. “Don’t worry, Ayako-san. Morgana and I will drag Goro here ourselves if we have to. Once a month, at least, I promise.”

 

Outside, Goro sinks down into a squat, burying his face in his hands. Ren sits down next to him, leans their heads together. He thinks he can still hear Takeshi in the apartment yelping in delight with his mother, if it isn’t a trick of the wind. Good: that boy is going to have so many supportive adults in his life that he won’t know what to do with all of them.

 

“Shall we go home?” Ren asks. Home — what a word. What a fine, new, loving word.

 

They walk to train station, hand in hand. Tomorrow, the movers will deliver the last of Goro’s affects to his new life; tonight, in the frigid train car, Japan blooms past them, revealing tiny daily lives tucked into the protective curve of the landscape. It is starting to snow. In the morning, Goro will rouse Ren with a fresh cup of coffee, and they will chat about their plans for the day over breakfast. Ren will leave for work, somewhere in Shibuya, or maybe Shinjuku, or maybe a place he’s never heard of before, and Goro will stay home, unpack, tend to Morgana. At dusk they will reconvene again: dinner, dessert, a movie if they find the time. They _will_ find the time to kiss, and to kiss deeply, and they will end the night in a bed that turns kisses to twilight. Goro will wake from the nightmares, not once or twice but many times, and Ren will sit by him with a cold glass of water until they both fall asleep again. And they will repeat this uncomplicated routine for years and years to come, and they will find themselves content with simply this.

**Author's Note:**

> First off, thank you for reading! This story ended up becoming very close to my heart, as I stress-wrote it over the course of a month. I don't know how it exploded to this length, because I meant it to be about half the length it currently is, but I kind of just...poured all of my stress, anxieties, and depression into this work, and honestly, I'm just happy to be done with it. It's a little bit rough here and there, so I apologize if it's a choppy read, and also if characterization is a bit questionable -- this is my first crack at writing the P5 kids and I'm not sure if I have the hang of it yet. This is also, charitably, a second draft at best, so please feel free to point out any typos you might find.
> 
> Secondly, the original summary I planned for this fic was literally, "Ren and Goro as sad and tired adults, because I am a sad and tired adult." Because my sad-and-tired adulthood is never-ending, there are going to be two loose "sequels" to the sad-and-tired-adultverse that can be also be read as standalone works. Part 2 features Ren and Goro on vacation in Italy (because I said so), and part 3 is about getting the gang back together. I'm an extremely slow writer, though, so, uh, please don't expect these anytime soon, haha.
> 
> That's all for now, folks. Let me know your thoughts in the comments!


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